


so close (and so far)

by Authors_Restraint



Series: S8 Fix-It Scenes [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, and give myself jonsa scenes while I'm at it, finally got around to writing it, me and my neverending quest, this idea been bouncing around in my head since last year, to give my mans back his pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27056551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authors_Restraint/pseuds/Authors_Restraint
Summary: Jon and Sansa dance.8x04.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: S8 Fix-It Scenes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719154
Comments: 23
Kudos: 117





	so close (and so far)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, it's me. What's up? How are you guys?
> 
> This little thing here was borne of me watching the dance scene in Enchanted, Can I Have This Dance from HSM 3, Masquerade from Rags and the dance scene from the live-action Cinderella.
> 
> My brain saw that and was like, J O N S A.
> 
> So here it is. Enjoy!

They're well into their post-war celebrations and for the first time, in a _long_ time, Jon's feeling relaxed. He's at ease. Actually at ease. He knows that it isn't going to last long - the Gods would never be so kind to him - but for the moment, he's going to enjoy it.

He rests his cheek in his palm and looks on with a fond smile at his people. They've cleared away the tables, musicians have picked up their instruments and his people have taken to the floor. It's a quick dance and one where the partner to it changes from person to person. If he were a braver man, and a more talented one at that, he'd walk up to Sansa and ask her to dance but he's not so he doesn't.

Doesn't stop him from staring at her from across the hall though.

She's wearing a dark blue dress that hugs her slender frame, and it glitters in the candlelight. Her hair is braided in an intricate style and winter roses are woven into the red locks. She looks so beautiful that it _hurts_. She's sitting with Brienne and the Lannister brothers at one of the tables that's been pushed to the wall.

A muscle ticks in his jaw when he sees Tyrion say something that has Sansa cover her mouth in amusement. Sure, the Lord of Casterly Rock has a witty humor but Jon doubts that he's _that_ funny.

Jon can be funny.

He's made Sansa laugh many times, and she the same for him. But with all of that, she still must deem Jon poor company. It's just as well he supposes, though. He hasn't been particularly nice to her since his return.

The music changes to one that is slower and Jon watches as Sansa's head lifts up, and turns in the direction of the dancers. He remembers this song being one of her favourites. If he closes his eyes he can plainly see a younger Sansa being twirled around the floor by their - _her_ \- father, her red braids flying around her face.

Jon doesn't know what comes over him but one moment he's in his seat, and the next he's standing at Sansa's shoulder. She looks up at him, her eyes both wary and hopeful. He gives her a faint smile then offers her his hand before his nerves get the better of him.

He doesn't need to turn around to know that a pair of violet-blue eyes are watching him. They've been cordial to each other all night but Jon knows that she resents him not giving her attention. He's compounding that by giving that attention to his would-be sister, a woman who incenses her greatly.

Jon will pay for that slight later, he knows. He momentarily thinks of the threats veiled behind concern, the kisses that taste like poison on his lips and the imagined smell of smoke. He barely resists flinching.

"Lord Snow," Jaime says to him in greeting, drawing him out of his musings. Jon only barely acknowledges him.

"If you'll excuse me," Sansa tells her company, ever the well-mannered one. Jon has decorum and discipline, as well as manners. Just as much as Sansa. He just doesn't feel like showing that to the likes of Jaime and Tyrion. The former may have fought hard and bravely in the War, but he's still the man who attacked the man whom he called father on the streets of King's Landing, and the one who put Bran in a wheelchair. And the latter invited him to Dragonstone under false pretences, and has proven that his word means less than shit.

Not to mention the way Jon sees his eyes linger on the curves of Sansa enhanced by the gown.

Sansa places her hand in his and allows him to lead her up from the table. Brienne moves to stand as well but she waves her off.

When they're a ways away from Brienne and the Lannisters, be turns to her. He realizes then he hasn't officially asked her to dance and is at a loss on how to do so. It's ridiculous. He's a man grown who's fought in many battles and stared down the faces of the Night King, White Walkers and Dragons and yet is reduced to a fumbling green boy in the presence of a woman he's known since she was but a babe.

"Jon?"

He meets her eyes. She's looking at him expectantly. Her gaze flits from him to the people twirling about the dance floor.

"Dance with me."

Sansa raises an eyebrow.

Jon could hit himself. How rude of him. Gods, where have his manners gone?

"You don't dance," she reminds him. To her credit, she doesn't sound offended.

"No, but you do."

She smiles at him and what he wouldn't give to see that smile on her face always. "Okay."

Sansa holds onto his arm with both of hers as he leads her onto the dancefloor. Their people part for them and before he knows it, they're at the center of the Great Hall. He swallows thickly, trying to ignore the various eyes on them and bows to her.

Sansa drops into an effortless curtsey, then places her hands in his as the music rises around them. The last time he'd danced like this had been the night he'd been crowned. The Lords had all but demanded their new King take their Lady for a turn around the floor.

Jon feels as winded now as he did then. Only then he'd been expected to look relaxed and somewhat happy. And he supposes he should be now as well but this time there's a shadow hanging over him. A blonde shadow who, despite her diminutive stature, terrifies him more than anyone else has.

His distress must show on his face because Sansa tilts her head in concern. "Is it really such a chore to dance with me, Jon?"

He chuckled softly. "Forgive me. My mind was elsewhere."

He spins her out and her red locks fly around her face. She steps back into him and his heart slams in his chest at their close proximity. Her dainty hands press against his doublet, then slips up to his shoulders.

He slowly winds an arm around her waist as they sway together. "You're so tense," she whispers.

"Sorry." He doesn't say anything else to that.

"Hmm."

She gives a gasp as he dips her low in time with the music. That gasp turns into a soft laugh of delight when he lifts her into the air. Jon can't help that he smiles as well. When she comes back down, her arms slip around his neck as they twirl about the floor.

Jon doesn't think that he's performing quite accurately but Sansa doesn't seem to care about that. Her head is bent near his neck and she's humming. Throwing caution to the wind, and uncaring of the eyes on them, he fully winds his arms around her waist. He pulls her fully into him and Sansa holds his neck tighter as they spin around the center of the Great Hall.

It's been so long since he's last held her like this. Been so long since she looked this at ease.

"You're singing."

"It's a celebration," she replies smartly, her eyes closed. 

"Hmm."

One hand slips to his cheek and Jon stiffens. His blood runs hot and he feels like every nerve has awoken. It's ridiculous the effect she has on him.

She thumbs the bruise on his cheek with a frown. He gently bats her hand away, lifting her hips to spin her again in time with their people.

While he appreciates her concern, he'd rather she not be so public with it. The violet gaze on him feels even more intense and Jon knows that he isn't entirely present as the dance ends. 

Sansa drops into a curtsey that takes her knees to the floor. He can't help that seeing her in such a position puts him in a panic. She's simply performing a formality, same as the other dancing Ladies, but a certain someone won't understand that.

As he straightens from his bow and helps Sansa to her feet, Jon makes the mistake of looking to the Head Table. His aunt is looking directly at him, her gaze unwavering. He swallows and bows his head deferentially. Sansa's fingers lace with his and he can't - he can't _do_ this.

It feels wrong to touch her now after what's just happened. One look from the self-proclaimed queen and he's reduced to the nothingness he's become since meeting her.

Oh how he loathes her.

"If you wish to go to her, I'll not stop you."

He looks back at her and she's staring at him guardedly. Jon likes to believe that he's good at being able to read Sansa's expressions but this . . . She'd looked at him like this the night he'd returned when she'd ranted at him for giving up his crown. When she'd asked him if he loved Dany.

Jon has no words for her now as he did then.

He does the only thing he knows how. He pulls her close and kisses her forehead. He hopes it conveys all that he can't say. She's so close to him and yet she's never felt farther away.


End file.
